


Gold and Purple

by Lillian_Small



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: All tags will be edited as story progresses, Annoying Girl Meets Easily Irritated Boy, Eventual Romance, F/M, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, Loki in prison, Magic, Prisoner Loki (Marvel), Slow Burn, Something a Bit Different (I hope), Strangers to Lovers, Thor: The Dark World, Thor: The Dark World Alternate Universe, Two Idiots Who Don't Know Their Feelings, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Tension, kind of soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-02-04 18:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian_Small/pseuds/Lillian_Small
Summary: Loki thinks prison could be a fate worse than death. That is until he meets her.





	1. The Girl

Prison. The very place would expect to find a traitor to the crown. Execution was still the preferred method of punishment for that sort of crime – their heads proffered on a spike for all to see as a warning. Although it was unclear whether the warning was against treason or against Odin; the so-called Allfather of Peace, who still murdered all those who didn’t act in such a way that pleased him. Fortunately, this fate hadn’t befallen Loki. He was still in the favour of the Queen, so the disgraced prince would spend his days rotting in a cell rather than on a spike. At the mere deliberation of the matter, he brought his hand to his pale neck and gulped. For once, he was glad to hear a pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. He was yet to decide, however, whether jail was a fate worse than death. There were only two things he knew completely: he’d lost his chance at the throne of Asgard and he must now be the most hated man in all of the nine realms.

 

“Now, now, Your Highness. This defeatist attitude just won’t do.” a female voice spoke up, filled with austerity yet playfulness. It reminded Loki of a kind governess or perhaps one of his mother’s ladies-in-waiting. He chuckled albeit bitterly; the voice making him forget his situation momentarily. “I suppose not. But what else--” He cut himself off, having finally processed what was going on. Leaping to his feet, he turned sharply in the direction of the voice. Stood there, right in the middle of the prison’s most guarded cell, was a woman. She seemed extremely plain with no distinguishable features whatsoever (the rags she wore could barely be called a dress) so he assumed she was a peasant woman. But there was something radiating from her, making the hairs on the back of his hand stand on end. Magic. Without another second of thought, Loki strode over to the woman, backed her against the wall and plucked her off the floor by the neck of her raggedy dress. “Who are you?” he demanded, “Who sent you, hmm? Was it Odin? Or my beloved brother, Thor?” Anyone would have been quaking in their boots at this moment but he could feel no such fear. In fact, he could see the faint makings of a smirk on her cracked lips, which only fuelled his anger. “I am not a spy, sire, if that is what you are insinuating. Merely a concerned party.” she replied coolly. He couldn’t understand her. Weren’t Asgardians supposed to tremble at the faintest whisper about the God of Mischief? “What do you want?” he hissed, his blue-green eyes boring deep into her murky green ones. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen them somewhere before. “I came to bring you some books.” Books? Loki couldn’t recall her having any books about her person. Before the word ‘liar’ could come to the forefront of his mind, he felt her weight shift beneath his grip. He looked down and, to his utter surprise, she cradled several books in her arms. Trying desperately to mask his shock, he dropped the woman suddenly. She landed gracefully on her feet without so much as a wobble, or a ruffle of the books' pages. He couldn’t identify the look in her eyes, but it could easily have been one of pride. “What’s the matter, my prince? Cat caught your silver tongue?” she teased, taking advantage of his obvious disbelief at the situation. This made the disgraced prince compose himself, not allowing a peasant to rattle him. If she really was a peasant. Or even really there at all. With a clear mind, he concluded she was nothing more than a figment of his imagination like the projections of Frigga he created to pass the time. After all, no mortal, magic or not, could render Loki Laufeyson speechless. The woman hadn’t said another word after his conclusion so perhaps he was right. So, to make the hallucination disappear, he would have to do nothing more than close his eyes and clear his mind. Paying no more regard to her, Loki lay down on the bed in the centre of the room and allowed himself to relax, hoping the irritating vision would leave.

 

Reassuringly, when Loki opened his eyes (after who knows how long), the woman had gone. As a matter of fact, there was no trace of her ever being there at all. Irritatingly, the thought brought goosebumps to his skin. Yet the woman, the vanishing, the uncertainty; it all felt so achingly familiar to him. He brushed the feeling to one side, worried a single glimmer in his mind would bring her back. And his sanity would not be helped by the summoning of an infuriating, imaginary woman. He sighed deeply, exhaling his frustration through his nose. The whole thing wasn’t worth his time nor whatever effort it took to produce the illusion – she wasn’t even real. Or at least, he was sure she wasn’t. But surety wasn’t enough to explain the pile of books that stood firmly by his bedside, echoing the stance of their owner. The confusion made Loki want to throw a tantrum like a pathetic toddler but it occurred to him that was how he ended up in a prison cell. Was that what she was? A conscience or an angel sent to put him back on the path of righteousness. He scoffed bitterly. Of all his theories, that one was the most unlikely. He knew that not even Yggdrasil cared that much for him.


	2. Plums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki receives another visit from the mysterious girl, who attempts to make his prison experience more enjoyable.

Loki smelt his breakfast before he saw it. The offending scent roused him from his sleep (not that it was a hard task). He was convinced the prison food was rotten leftovers, but perhaps that luxury was solely for him. Either way, he never touched it. Thankfully, there was no mirror to show him how much weight he was losing because of this. He missed the simple comforts like fresh pastries and fruits. The very thought of them made him relax.

 

Scuffling. His ears perked. His hairs stood on end. Something was in his cell. Perhaps a rat had come to enjoy the breakfast that Loki wouldn’t. But not even a rodent could pass through the barrier. This left only one alternative, which made his blood run cold. Leaping up from his bed, he turned to see the infuriating peasant girl sat at the table. A plate of fresh pastries and fruit lay before her, and she tucked into it nonchalantly. Loki fought the hunger her action inflicted as he began to slowly stalk around her, making note of every detail in case of something awry. "I can see why these are your favourite," she spoke up, her calm tone slicing through the tense silence, "Such exquisiteness is very befitting of a prince." And those few words somehow managed to set his teeth on edge. He came to a stop in front of her, and she lifted her head; her gaze somehow more intense than his interrogative one. And those eyes were haunting; they swirled with a never-ending pool of secrets. "Don't you want a bite?" she offered teasingly, dangling a plum bun in her willowy fingers. By the Gods did he. But he didn't trust her in the slightest.

"Why would I eat anything you give to me?"

Her face softened slightly and her reply could have been interpreted as concern. "I wouldn't want you to starve to death, Your Highness."

Believing he had worked her out, the prince let out a bitter, breathy chuckle. "Tell the Queen that her concern is touching."

"I am not associated with Queen Frigga. Or anyone of royal Asgardian blood." It was clear she was taunting him - any concern he may have detected before was forgotten. "Then why do you care if I live or die?" he queried sharply. 

Her gaze intensified somehow. "That's a question for another time, my prince." Loki sighed deeply, having forgotten how much she could exhaust him with so few words. He slumped down in the seat opposite the woman and propped his feet up on the table. She slid the plate across to him after popping one last grape in her mouth. "Help yourself, sire." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not going to poison you." For some reason, he trusted her word. He took a plum bun from the plate, not missing the twitch of a smile on her lips as he did so. He could not figure her out.

 

"Did you read the books I brought you, my prince?" she questioned as she prowled around his cell. Loki flinched every time her fingers trailed across any surface though he couldn’t sense any magic traces left on them. Perhaps she was leaving her scent or marking her territory. She came to a halt, waiting for his reply. He was surprised she didn’t start tapping her foot impatiently. "Yes." Loki mumbled in reply.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" He let out a growl; he knew full-well that she'd heard him. The prince composed himself before repeating shortly, "Yes. I did." 

She smirked. "Good. I'll get you some more." In the blink of an eye, the original pile was replaced by a new one. Despite being a master of magic himself, Loki was still surprised by such a spell being used by a rather unsuspecting peasant. She picked up on this and decided to tease him about the reaction. "I thought a trickster such as yourself would have a grasp on this sort of basic spell. But I can teach you, Your Highness, if you'd like." His jaw clenched. His fists tightened. He leapt from his seat.

"I do not need anyone to teach me magic. Especially not an irritating, perverse wench." he hissed. The woman walked over to him so that they were stood toe to toe. She stood much shorter than the god, but this did not lessen her intimidation. "I cannot believe the famous silver tongue would choose to insult my gender of all things. I thought you would never stoop as low, my prince."

"Prison is taking its toll on me. Amongst other things." He glared at her poignantly. "I'm afraid I may be a little out of practise." The girl stood on her tiptoes and leaned in to him. Her breath brushed his neck as she said, "I'm sure I could help you with that." Much to his annoyance, Loki found himself wanting to invite her to. Was he so starved of company that this peasant was his only form of catharsis? Clearly. "Haven't you got some other prisoner to annoy?" he asked curtly, his voice slightly strained. He watched as she swallowed her laughter at his discomfort. The peasant walked over to the orange barrier, surveying the other prisoners that resided in Asgard's cells. "Maybe. But none of them would be quite as entertaining." She turned back to him with a sly yet sincere smile. Frustratingly, Loki almost returned that smile without a thought. Get a grip. "I don't need you to inflate my ego." he snapped.

"Then it seems I'm not needed here." For some reason, her words made him scrabble for her to stay longer.

"Just tell me one thing before you go. Can anyone else see you? Or have I gone mad?"

She chuckled. "They can only see me if I want them to. As for going mad, sire, I think you're already there." And with that, she disappeared before his very eyes.


	3. Perthro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frustration can manifest itself in many (sometimes surprising) ways as Loki is about to find out.

Loki was smiling when she appeared in his cell, much to her surprise. Over the last few visits, he had become more and more irate. One would assume he was at his wits end. But there he was, sat on the cell floor, looking as if he had just won a grand prize. Walking over to him, the woman asked, “Is there some upside to prison that I am unaware of, my prince? ” He turned to face her; his grin never faltering. “I think, perhaps, I might have found one.”  
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” He stood, and an old, tattered book appeared in his hand. It had a red leather cover and was adorned with golden runes. One stood out amongst them all – Perthro. The girl covered her left wrist out of instinct. “You aren’t the only one who brings me books, Volvadottir.” He revelled at the effect his words had – for the first time, he sensed unease within her. “I took it upon myself to find out about you given your insistence to keep bothering me. So I sent for books on old magic families. Then those still in existence. I managed to narrow it down to two and, given you are a woman, I assume you are a daughter of magic. ”

Her anger crackled off of every surface in the cell. “ You assume correctly. Well done. ” she responded shortly. The formalities had vanished, and she was biting her tongue. Loki had rattled her. It swelled him with pride.

 

Placing the book on his bed, he took a deep inhale through his nose, soaking up the moment. “There is nothing you can say to me now. I am untouchable. ” he thought aloud. Just like that, her moment of vulnerability disappeared. He had unwittingly issued a challenge.

“Is that so, Laufeyson?” Their eyes met, both holding an unwavering gaze. He’d watched his brother fight for long enough to know this was a duel, but one of words, not fists. “Be my guest.”  
“Well apart from your petulance and arrogance, your not-so-well hidden desire to be loved and looks of a weasel. You sought to take over an entire planet just because you believe your birth right is to rule, though I am yet to see such qualities within you. ” Loki began to stalk towards her; his smile turning sinister in the blink of an eye. “You are the God of Mischief and Lies, which automatically makes you the least trustworthy person in the nine realms. And you have a superiority complex so large, I’m surprised they managed to fit it inside such a scrawny--” She gasped as her back hit a wall. The god couldn’t place what compelled him in that moment: whether it was his own boredom, the fact that he towered over her in that moment, or simply that she was beginning to consume his thoughts. Whatever it was had a hold of him. No sooner had the gasp left her lips than he had leaned down and kissed her. It was rough and coarse but, ultimately, held no meaning, as her words had to him. He felt something as he kissed her. Well, apart from the usual feelings that accompany such a display of ardour. She was holding an illusion. The very touch of his lips to hers was a battle, especially knowing how quickly the liesmith could dispel her. Gathering her strength, she struck his face. Loki staggered away, clutching his red cheek with his pale hand. He let out a breathy laugh that hid neither his shock nor his pleasure. Eyes meeting once again, he noticed hers were a brighter green than they had been before. They sent a shiver down his spine followed by a sense of déjà vu. There was no time to think on this sensation, however, as the peasant girl launched her assault. “How dare you! You will do well to remember that I am not a whore nor some girl at court, who is so easily bent to your will. I am not to be judged by their standards. ” His hand dropped from his cheek and held her gaze though it was softer than before. She could almost see the tail drooping between his legs. He felt remorse. Or as much remorse as a man like him could feel. “And for Valhalla’s sake,” she continued, “When did asking permission ever fall out of fashion?”

Before the prince’s mind could even comprehend doing so, the words came tumbling from his mouth. “Then may I have the pleasure, Volvadottir?” He felt such an idiot, though the feeling flushed away when a smile graced her face. It was the gentlest he’d ever seen from her, all due to his abrupt weakness. “Absolutely not, Laufeyson.” she chuckled. Seemingly, all was forgiven.

 

With the red leather book in her sights, she walked past him, brushing her hand against his arm and hoping it made him shiver. “Though do try to be more careful next time. I would like to keep my teeth.” Loki hated that her promise of a next time made him hopeful. He turned to her, leaning against the table with his arms folded. “I’m being reviewed?” he scoffed as she ran her hands over the book’s cover, tracing the details. “You are. Especially if that’s how you kiss someone.” Her fascination with the golden runes reminded him of something odd she’d done earlier. “Why did you cover your wrist? When you saw the book.” She sighed, hating herself for being so obvious. Her long fingers dragged along her left wrist. Her skin parted like clouds to reveal a Perthro tattooed in black ink. There was no denying she was holding an illusion. “Of course.” he said. “Every daughter gets one when she comes of age. It’s ancient tradition.” she informed him. She could distinctly remember when she got hers, just before she left the outskirts to join the hubbub in the heart of Asgard. Still just a child. Her skin clouded back over, hiding the rune along with the rest of her life. Not here, not now. Loki diverted his attention back to his cheek, prodding it gently to test the pain. He winced a little at the contact; that girl could really pack a punch. He was about to make a quip about not wanting a bruise but the witch had vanished along with the book on her family. Clearly, she didn’t want him to stay one step ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all enjoying this story - it's really different to anything I've written before. Just a couple of things to explain: Perthro is a rune that basically symbolises mystery and the unknown, mostly within the universe, and Volvadottir translates to "daughter of magic."


	4. Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tests of strength bring about unexpected results for both Loki and the mysterious witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long; I've been taking a bit of a break after I finished my A-Level exams. Enjoy!

Boredom. The state of being bored. A state that a prisoner should become accustomed with. Staring at the white ceiling above him, Loki was surprised he hadn’t been absorbed into it. That was how he’d been for days or weeks — it was hard to track time with nothing to mark it by — in a coma of boredom. And, as much as he hated to admit it, in a perpetual state of waiting for her. She was still just as infuriating even as he was growing fond of her company.  A prince and a pauper, wasn’t that always the way? He was beginning to feel a little guilt about the way he’d treated her during their last meeting. But the way she taunted and goaded him with a twinkle in her eye; the God of Mischief couldn’t interpret that any other way.  
   
A red book flew across the cell. It hit the orange barrier with a fizz, like a fly hitting a trap, and immediately turned to ash. The prince sat bolt upright on his bed; it was only thing to have stirred him. “I read it. It’s wrong. ” The sound of her voice filled him with relief. Her eyes had returned to their usual colour but their swirling confusion finally made sense. They hid the truth. “Your family wrote it.”  he reminded her, attempting to distract himself from his horrifying elation at her arrival. It wasn't obscured from her though - to her, he was completely transparent. “Like I said, it’s wrong.” Walking to sit at the foot of his bed, she added, “We can’t have just anyone knowing our secrets, Laufeyson.” She crossed her legs and he mimicked her.    
“But I’m not just anyone, am I, Volvadottir?” Oh, how little he knew.  
“Not even your titles give you the rights to them.” Instead of exasperation or a challenge, Loki just fixed his gaze on her quite intensely. In that moment, she could imagine how terrifying it would be to have been held under that paralysing and hypnotic look. Magic surrounded the peasant girl, scraping and gnawing at her, trying to find its way in. A silent understanding passed between the pair, that Loki knew she had disguised herself and he would do anything to prise it off her. What he didn’t know was her illusion was almost as impenetrable as Asgard’s vaults. Almost. Taking it upon herself to set a challenge, the girl matched his scrutiny and sent her magic right back at him. Purple intertwined with yellow, rebuffing the latter’s assaults with tender yet teasing caresses. The god’s jaw clenched at her action but, apart from that, he was completely concentrated. **Impressive.** Her voice was so loud and clear in his head that he was startled. No-one and nothing had an input in his mind apart from the mein of his own demons that resided there. Just when he thought she couldn’t get any more invasive. In response, his soft wisps turned to gold points, each striking at her skin. She nearly escaped unscathed, but one blade hit her right cheekbone, smashing the mirage there like glass. A bright green eye was exposed. The sight made Loki shiver as the spike curled inside the crack and began to pull. A guttural scream rumbled from the witch’s throat. It was as if skin was being peeled from bone. _Yield._  His voice was dark and demonic; she could only imagine the satisfaction he was getting from it. Unluckily for him, she wouldn't give him what he wanted. “Never." she replied aloud, voice strained. Then she shut herself off. The lighthouse to his magic had disappeared, causing it to abruptly disperse and smash a water jug in the process. Neither of them flinched. His agitation was rising; he could see her, yet he couldn’t feel her. And her illusion was knitting itself back together. _What have you done, wench?_ But his hissing couldn’t reach her. Growing restless and tired, the god ceased his probing. His gold barbs retreated. The girl could finally breathe.  
   
Hoping not to give Loki another opportunity to apprehend her, the witch busied herself with reconstructing the water jug. She picked the handle out from the shattered pieces and the other segments formed around it. “What a mess you’ve made.”  she sighed. The liesmith had to bite his tongue at her tone. It was at those times, when she was so clearly patronising him, any sort of feelings he may or may not have had would completely disappear. She placed the fixed jug back on the table. He lunged forward to grab her wrist, taking advantage of its exposure from the sleeve of her dress. But she sensed him, felt his magic bristle up against hers. The girl held up her arm, stopping his in its tracks. She turned to face him. He tried to grab her again, and she blocked him again. This continued, with her grunting “What. Did. I. Say. About. Asking. Permission.” between each blow. She took a step backwards to put some distance between them. As she did, the trickster sent out an invisible snag, causing her to trip. A twinkle appeared in her eyes.  A purple hook yanked his waist. **If I’m going down, Laufeyson, you’re coming with me.** The pair landed on the hard floor with groans. It didn’t take Loki long to realise his position, practically led on top of her. He couldn’t deny that he liked where he was. She watched his jaw clench as it had earlier. One could only imagine the base thoughts that were running through that mind of his.  Noting his moment of weakness, the peasant clamped her thighs around his and, somehow, managed to flip the both of them over. The prince couldn't deny how much he liked that position either. Before the word yield could even enter her mind, a bright, gold jet smacked her in the forehead. With a yelp, she stumbled off him. “I think you’ll find you’re the only one going down, Volvadottir.” he retorted. The witch did everything she could to stop the melting sensation from spreading. It was no use. Her illusion fell like a dress to the floor. Loki sprung up like a coiled cobra. His face betrayed no emotion but in his head, his jaw was slack and his eyes were wide. And the only word he could form was, “You.” The only sight that could render his silver tongue useless stood before him. Haunting him with purple hair and green eyes was the girl he’d once seen at the market many years ago.


	5. Ashelga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out Loki had met this mysterious witch before at the market long ago.

Loki was a teenager the first time he saw Ashelga. It was a moment he thought he would never forget. The day started out rather typically - he had spent the morning with his mother, who had unfortunately forced him outside with his brother in the afternoon. Frigga insisted the young prince needed to spend more time out in public, no matter how much he pleaded otherwise, so the Asgardian citizens would be used to his presence. It wasn’t the thought of being out in the market that deterred Loki (though he would have preferred to spend his day in the library or his room) but the thought of being in Thor’s shadow. It was a place he often found himself. People would always stop and talk to the golden boy of Asgard. And, as much as he tried to deny the fact, it bothered him. He couldn’t understand why he was the lonely one, when all he ever did was try to be the king his mother knew he could be. Thor was loud, brazen and selfish; not at all worthy of the crown. The raven-haired boy sulked about this as he traipsed around the market when every person they passed, especially the girls, greeted Thor with admiration and grace. The younger boy felt his fingers twitch. He could embarrass his brother in front of all these people; it would be so easy. He’d been practicing numerous tricks and pranks when his mother’s back was turned--

  
  
That’s when he saw her. Stopping almost completely in his tracks, he watched the girl walk through the busy market square. Loki couldn’t understand why no-one else had done the same as him. Her hair alone, its colour as rich a purple as the plums that grew in the palace gardens, was enough to make her stand out from the blur of blandness around her. But her eyes - Oh, those eyes! - such a green that the young prince had never seen before. So bright and electric, almost other worldly. But what realm had the ability to create such a captivating creature? Her nose, petite and pointed like the rest of her features, was buried deep in some obscured title. Not once did she bump into anyone or anything, seemingly having an acute awareness of her environment. She reminded Loki of an elf or a pixie that he had once read about in a Midgardian book (that he would deny ever reading); so delicate looking yet she jutted out at dangerously sharp angles. Every pointed part of her seemed to be reaching out for something like the drooping branches of an old willow tree. And, somehow, the raven-haired prince deemed that something to be him. Managing to tear his eyes from the work of art before him, he turned to his brother. Thor strode a few steps in front of him; his head held high so his imaginary crown wouldn’t slip. “Brother.”  Loki called. But he was ignored. He looked back to make sure the girl was still around. Thankfully, she had come to a stop at the costermonger’s stall, pulling a ridiculously long list from a pocket in her raggedy brown dress. “Thor.”  he called a little louder. This time he was successful. The blond oaf turned to his brother. “Yes, Loki?”  he replied.

“That girl over at the costermonger’s. Do you know of her? ” Loki enquired, trying not to sound too interested. But nothing went over Thor’s head when it came to women. Smirking, he looked in the direction of the stall. “Which one?” he posed, craning his neck to catch sight of the beauty that had finally turned his brother’s head. Loki scoffed. “How can you even ask?” Following the blond boy’s eye-line, he continued, “Why, she’s the most striking--” His breath was yanked from his lungs before he could come to form another word. She was gone. But how? It had only been a minute. His head darted around, knowing her features would be easily spotted, even in this crowd. Nothing. Not a trace. “Well, which one is it?” Thor pressed delightedly. Loki felt anger and frustration bubble up inside of him. Her list should have kept her at the stall for quite a while, yet she had vanished within seconds. Had he simply imagined her? It seemed the only reasonable explanation for how someone so beautiful could appear unnoticed and disappear with such fleeting speed. “I… I… Uh…” the young prince stammered, not yet worthy of his title as a liesmith. Luckily for Loki, not matter his brother’s interest in anything, Thor was so easily distracted. A street performer, promising elaborately dangerous fire tricks, set up in the middle of the square. The blond prince’s face lit up with a grin. His brother rolled his eyes, knowing he could do tricks better than any basic street artist. Before he could protest, Thor had grabbed his arm, and all hopes of finding the mystery girl was lost as the two of them were swallowed into the forming audience.

  
  
Loki clung to the image of the elven girl with the purple hair and hypnotic green eyes. He must have used all the paper in the palace for his writings: poems and descriptions. He even ventured into drawing and painting just to try to capture the girl who haunted his every thought. But no word or pencil line could ever do her justice. If she was purely a projection from his mind, he had created her to an impossible standard. So all the young prince could do was covet her image in his mind, locking it away in a box that would stay untouched. However, nothing can stay safe from the sands of time. Soon, she faded. Her purple hair drained to a simple brown as the lonely boy became an even lonelier young man. Then came the mistakes, when every move he made never seemed to be the right one. Her eyes dimmed until their bright green became hopelessly murky. The girl continued to deplete, transforming into any woman he could have once passed. Until one day, when the box she had been secured in was destroyed by the tornado of misery, anger and regret in Loki’s head. He had no time for a ridiculous hang-up over some enigma of a girl. So she was lost and forgotten. But Ashelga never forgot about him.


End file.
